Needs
by FightfortheLost
Summary: After a nightmare reminds him of things he endured as a slave, Fenris needs someone he's not sure will be willing to give him what he needs. FenrisxF!Hawke


Fenris shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. He sat on his bed in the mansion Danarius had once occupied, staring into nothing. He could still feel the tongue on him, hands on him, feel the cock being forced into his throat, choking him. Tears slid down his face and he rocked himself, trying to ignore the feelings.

It didn't help. He felt unclean.

Closing his eyes against the tears, he pushed his hands through his hair, trying to force the memories the dream had stirred up out of his mind. It wasn't working, so he stood up and started pacing the floor. The candles were nearly burnt out, the fire was low.

"Be a good pet, my little Fenris..."

He snarled, grabbing the back of the chair and hurling it across the room. "I AM NOT YOUR PET!"

The words crashed through the mansion, an echo repeating them again and again. He slapped his hands over his ears, trying to drown out the sound. His nails bit into his hair, the tips of his gauntlets creating the faintest pain in his scalp.

He couldn't stay here. He couldn't be here by himself right now. He knew what he needed. He knew who he needed. He just wasn't certain that she wouldn't slam the door in his face right now.

He left his sword by the bed. There would be no need for it if he went there, and any bandits or thieves he might meet along the way would be dead before they realized he was a danger even without a weapon.

As he stepped from the mansion, rain immediately pelted his skin. It was cooler than the rains of Seheron, and there was little rain in the deserts of Tevinter. It chilled his skin, but he didn't care. It would hide most of the evidence of his upset.

It wasn't a long walk to the estate. The Amell crest hung above the door, the same crest he wore at his hip. He was hers. Her knight, if she wished. He'd been hers for four years, but she didn't know that. She didn't know that he'd walked away that night, walked away from the memories, but he'd torn himself apart walking away from her.

He'd expected her to take another lover. It wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest if she had. But she didn't. Instead, she came to the mansion, once a week, as though nothing had happened, taught him to read, write, how to do sums. Sometimes, they'd talk and drink, tell each other ridiculous stories and laugh about them together.

He'd walked away from her, but she had never turned her back on him.

He hoped she wouldn't turn her back on him now.

He stood there, staring up at the crest for a long time before he found the courage to step forward and knock on the door. It wasn't that late, and he'd seen the candle lights still burning upstairs. She was here. And she was awake.

Would she answer?

Seconds ticked by and he questioned the wisdom of coming here. What was he expecting? What was he going to say or do or-

He had started to turn away from the door when it opened, revealing weary blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Her skin was smooth, clear, her dark hair hanging in her face as it usually did. He swallowed, trying to get past the lump in his throat, looking at her for a long moment, still poised to leave.

Her eyes widened. "Fenris? Is something wrong?"

He lowered his gaze. The easy answer was no. To apologize for bothering her, to just walk away was so easy. So, then, why when he opened his mouth, did the word "yes" slip between them?

She stepped aside, held the door open in invitation. She didn't ask any questions, just looked at him, and waited.

This wasn't good. The last time, he'd felt like this and had come to her, they'd ended up having sex. He couldn't do that right now. Still, his feet led him inside her warm house. He stood there, dripping in her entryway, searching for words yet unable to find them.

Marian Hawke moved away, towards one of the benches, picking up a towel and immediately running it over his hair, drying it for him. Her voice was light and amused. "It must be bad if you're willing to brave this weather over it." It didn't ask, but it invited him to speak if he wished.

He stood there, letting her touch him, letting her stroke that towel over his hair, then his face and neck. "Hawke..."

"Hmm?" Her voice was soft and warm. There was no judgement in it, no curiosity. She had opened the door. She was letting him in.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hands lifting without him telling them to and touching her elbows, keeping his touch light. "May I stay here tonight?" He hated that his voice cracked, that he could hear his own fear in it.

Her hands stilled and that fear bred from vulnerability filled him. The towel slipped down around his neck and her hand trembled as they touched his face, warm against his chilled skin. He hesitated a long moment before looking her in the eyes. There was sadness there. He hated seeing it so he looked away.

"Yes, Fenris, of course...I could make up the spare room if you'd like-"

"I don't want to be alone." The words were out before he could stop them. His grip on her tightened, so hard he thought he might bruise her. She didn't pull away, didn't object. She also didn't speak. After a moment, his hands fell to his sides, limp. "I...never mind. I'll just...I'll go." He turned, preparing to leave, but her hand caught his arm.

Other memories surged through him. Pressing her against the wall, angry that she'd touched him, angry that he was in so much pain and couldn't escape it. Realizing he could have hurt her. The guilt. Her lips on his, kissing him in earnest. Her pinning him against the same wall and kissing him again.

That night.

A shiver worked through him and he closed his eyes tight.

"Stay, Fenris. I'm not asking you for...what happened last time. But don't go when you look like this. I'm here for you, Fenris. I'm here."

He felt her warmth at his back, and her arms around him, resting against the chest plate, over where his heart was. Her forehead pressed against his shoulder. He lifted his hands, setting them over hers, squeezing them.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she said, voice quiet and soft, and he felt her trembling. "The...the bed is big, we can each have a side, and neither of us has to be alone."

Her words hurt him. Neither of us. He pulled her hands away, turned and kept one hand in his. It took a moment to find the words he needed. "Thank you." It wasn't sufficient, but it was all he could manage right now. The smile she gave him was reward enough for the effort.

She tugged him towards the stairs, past Orana, past Bodahn and Sandal. He heard the startled whispers from her servants, but did his best to ignore them. She entered her room, pulled him in and closed the door behind them.

There was a stack of papers on her desk, proof that she'd been up working instead of sleeping. He avoided looking at the bed, avoided the memories involved with that. He felt her hands on him, felt his chestplate loosening and he turned, grabbing her hands, stopping her. "Hawke-"

"I'm not undressing you, Fenris. You'll be more comfortable without your armor on. You're safe here. No one is going to hurt you."

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard. When she lifted her hands and finished removing the armor, he didn't stop her. He -did-, however, when her hands moved to the red scarf on his gauntlet. "Don't. That stays on."

She paused, looking at him, curious. She wouldn't remember it. It was something material of hers, and she didn't put much stock into material things. But it was hers. That made it important to him. He glanced away, removing the clawed gauntlets, untying the scarf with care, keeping his back to her as he did it. Then, he retied it around his now bare wrist. He removed the heavy leather belt without prompting, then looked towards her.

There was that sadness in her eyes again. He wondered if she was as overcome by memories as he was tonight.

She put an arm around him, stroking his back, led him towards the bed, tucked him under the covers and then moved around it, climbing onto the large bed as well, but she only reached for the throw blanket at the foot of the bed and drug that over herself.

"I can use that-"

She rolled towards him and he found them close together and he swallowed hard.

The feel of her lips on his skin; kissing, tasting. Her hands, wandering over him, learning the feel of him. Her cry as she sheathed him, the look of pleasure and love on her face as she'd leaned down and kissed him. Her curling up against him, her arm around his waist, contented smile on her lips as she'd fallen asleep beside him.

Falling asleep and having the surge of memories in his dreams-

A hand touched his cheek and he startled out of the memories again. Fingertips gingerly wandered across his skin and he met her gaze, uncertain.

"Just sleep." She leaned forward and kissed him then, but not on his mouth. She kissed his forehead, then wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him against her heart. His body moved without his prompting. It always did when she was involved.

Arms stole around her waist, and he was pressing his nose against her clothes, shaking. "Thank you." His voice was thick again, and he felt as though the feelings in him were going to pour out of him. I needed this, he realized. I needed her.

His eyes drifted closed, and he felt peaceful sleep wash over him. "I need you..."

A soft, whispered voice met his ears just before he drifted off completely. "I need you, too."


End file.
